There
by Linwen
Summary: Megatokyo oneshot. Erika ponders her tragic love life while accompanied with endless beers and Largo.


**T H E R E**

_By Linwenilid_

**ooo**

Erika twisted open the beer can while Largo downed noisily his second one. She sipped lightly, suppressing a long sigh on the account that it would have made her look like a silly teenager.

Confused. Alone, even with the slouching company of a deranged American gamer who did nothing but sipping beer like it was the only thing in the world.

Or: 'alone, because the only company she had right then was a lunatic gamer sipping beer and taking no notice of her'. She would have very well beat him within an inch of his life and walked away, to an empty bench to match her empty misery if she had wanted.

_If She Had Wanted._

But she didn't want to. And as for the motives of her sudden desire of company, she could not give herself a satisfactory reply.

_A voice, back then..._

The small voice of Kimiko purring words of comfort to that Piro wimp –to her somewhat distorted perspective, Erika had always seen her roommate as a pleasing little kitten, eager to humour people in order to _feel_ accepted—

"She's just a big softie…"

By 'she', she meant Erika. And by 'softie', Erika didn't know what she meant. And it was strangely amusing that the person who had witnessed in first row all her violent antics would call her a 'big softie'.

"Alrigh', you kin sstart…" Largo's slightly tipsy voice cut her thoughts cleanly. She glared back at the American, and downed her beer. It was useless to reply, useless to hint, or yell the agonizing truth to him: he lived in a world of fantasy where everything was a game… Fights, issues, threats, situations, girls… Girls' feelings were a chimera and/or a scheme to bring the downfall of true warriors.

_Oh God, what rubbish…_

While going through her second beer, Erika pondered, with uninterested contempt, about the depths of his mind. Was there something down there, once the debris of his delusions was removed? Did she even want to know?

Her third, fourth, fifth beer went away on the analysis of her own feelings. Why the _heck_ was she tolerating his presence, if the last hours –Days! Months! Lives!—they had hurt each other so badly?

Disruption. His disruption in her routinary life.It had been painful.

_Painful._

The way his presence nagged her with a morbid interest was unnerving. As unnerving as it was not being able to dispatch him away with a punch to the nose. Or a break of his arm. Or both.

_Or maybe not._

But it was all useless. Her life had been doomed from the start, and she saw no end to her loneliness, not even in him. He, the man who had rejected her without thinking it twice; the one who wasn't like all others: pathetic fanboys leaping up and down like puppies at a glance, or a hand wave. Her body had met the eagerness of many men, sometimes for pleasure, sometimes for boredom, and many, many times for her own benefit. She didn't have any regards in using such a currency; there wasn't a reason to hold back anymore, not when she had no one to be loyal to…

Herself didn't matter much.

But not Largo. To her astonishment, he wasn't in it for the sex.

Up to that moment, she didn't know what he was there for.

_Beer._

The cans piled up in the bench, between them and in the floor, tainting the placid beauty of Japanese cleanliness. Erika cared no more for this, nor did Largo, as he had never done.

And it never ended. Can after can after can after can… they materialized on the bench, ready for their fingers, ready to be mercilessly consumed and forgotten as their fingers –trembling, weakened, clumsy—tore away their successor's cap…

"'s a good drinkin'…" Largo droned, and something else Erika didn't understand.

_Why were everyone all of a sudden running?_

Her vision was blurred – she didn't remember the world before this moment— and something tapped her face with insistence. Someone yelled in the distance –a woman cry, anguished, desperate, heart-splitting.

"I coulda been 'appy, yeh idiot!"

_Couldn't agree more, _she thought.

Erika could have been happy, Erika could have loved; Hayasaka Erika could have had the man of her dreams, her one true love for herself, if only she hadn't been so _ambitious_. If only he had told her before, she would have dropped it all…

_Largo_ was there.

_Largo_ didn't want her.

Then _why_ was he there?

But _He_ Was There.

And _She_ Wanted _Him_ To _Be_ There.

What else was to explain? In his delusional state of arrested development, that was his way of showing support. Even with the cockiness of his attitude, and the rudeness of his words, _he was there_. Taking measures to avoid feeling uncomfortable with a woman's ranting on life, but _he was there_.

_There_, his resolve solid like a brick wall, waiting for her to unleash emotional hell.

Largo was there, but the love of her life wasn't. He had run away at the height of her carrier, afraid of getting in the way.

_Run away, the coward._

"Bastard! I did love you!"

Ear-splitting cries into the open night, while the chilling breeze enveloped her bones. Hayasaka didn't know where she was anymore. It hurt. Everything hurt. Being there, not being there, standing up, falling to the floor. Running, walking, being dragged, heaved, lumped. Untouched. The world was a blur of trees, rain and Largo. And away, always away, her past was mocking her, piercing her soul, her flesh, shattering her heart to pieces…

**ooo**

**Author's notes: **This one-shot was meant to be humorous – I mean, with the premise of Erika getting drunk in Largo's presence it _should_ have been – but it turned into moody angst. Ph34r 3rik4's 4ngst. Just in case it's needed, this little ficlet goes right after strip #825.

**Disclaimer:** All things related to Megatokyo belong to Fred Gallagher, master of pencil graying.


End file.
